Even the movies have their share of crappy rock groups.
The Pinheads, Back to the Future
Before he drove a plutonium-powered sports car into the 1950s (and eventually into therapy over his teenage mother's seduction of him), orange-vested time traveler Marty McFly was your typical 1980s California youth: playing sub-standard Huey Lewis covers as the lead guitarist of a rock band, The Pinheads. Rather than writing their own songs, the Pinheads choose to awkwardly inject existing hits with Van Halen-esque guitar solos while violently kicking over amplifiers. McFly introduces these sounds to 1955 with a Halen-like tribute to "Johnny B. Goode," making him essentially responsible for the eventual rise of glam metal.
Max Rebo Band, Return of the Jedi
If Jabba the Hutt's Tatooine palace is your typical sleazy nightclub, the Max Rebo Band is the depressing blues group headlining five nights a week in exchange for forgiveness of their gambling debts, their lives, and free Bud Lights. The group, most likely composed of rejects from the jazzy Cantina Band at the planet's slightly more dignified Mos Eisley Spaceport, is headlined by an obese blue aardvark-like creature, much like Meat Loaf's ensemble.
The Country Bears, The Country Bears
The Country Bears are a folk group of giant, talking, anthropomorphic grizzlies making them as terrifying as most other country music bands. In a film creepy even by Muppet standards, the Bears reunite after a 10-year hiatus to spread the nightmares caused by their Disneyland attraction to the greater United States. Part Eagles, part Three Dog Night, part carnivorous beasts, the Country Bears' authentic bluegrass sound draws country lovers nationwide close enough for the bloodthirsty animals to maul enough man flesh for the long, cold winter.
Mick Jagged and the Stones, The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas
Among other unforgivable acts, the sequel to 1994s live-action Flintstones film introduced a prehistoric incarnation of The Rolling Stones. Continuing the creative tradition of earlier Flintstone incarnations, Mick Jagged and the Stones subscribe to the brilliant habit of adding the prefix "rock-" or suffix "-stone" before every last fucking parody that appears on its screen. As headliners at the Tardust Casino of Rock Vegas (along with acts like Stony Bennett and Frank Stoneatra), Mick Jagged and the Stones achieve the impossible by making viewers nostalgic for the first Flintstones movie.
The Monkees, The Monkees
Though the Baby Boomers like to claim that the late '60s were the musical equivalent to Christ's Second Coming, Mom and Dad will never live down The Monkees, an NBC-created rock quartet whose slap-stick televised antics and lack of musical virtuosity made the band's name eminently appropriate. The Monkees recorded actual songs, and sold actual albums, which I suppose makes them an actual band. But it's tough to consider authentic any musical group whose day job consists of running around in Benny Hill-style fast motion for the 30 televised minutes a week following Gilligan's Island.
Wyld Stallyns, Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey
Apparently Marty McFly didn't satsify America's desire for West Coast time-traveling teenage rock musicians from the 1980s. According to a 27th-century George Carlin (which, given the comedian's current age, is becoming increasingly probable) California's Wyld Stallyns, ed by Ted "Theodore" Logan and Bill S. Preston, leads humanity to a utopian future in which nobody fights and everybody wears weird white shoulder pads. A reasonable enough prediction, until we finally hear the band perform. More KISS than Bono, Wyld Stallyns relies on glitzy stage performances from the Grim Reaper and robotic versions of themselves. If listening to Keanu Reeves sing is mankind's only means of salvation, I say "bring on the apocalypse!"
Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem, The Muppet Movie
Kids need to learn about psychotropic drugs at some point, but five stoned puppets thrashing psychedelic rock in an abandoned building may not be the most constructive way to introduce them to the mind-bending effects of LSD. Though every member of Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem appears to dabble in pharmaceutical "consciousness expansion," each musician is uniquely baked: Dr. Teeth's bloodshot eyes are perpetually half-closed, guitarist Janice speaks in a sedated, Valley girl accent, and Animal, the testosterone-fueled drummer who makes Johnny Rotten look like a folk singer, is in all likelihood a regular user of PCP.